


consequence

by lamentum



Series: if i have learned what love is, it is because of you [2]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Bittersweet, Crying, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pyrophobia, Recovery, Spoilers, Trauma, death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 16:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22399213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamentum/pseuds/lamentum
Summary: The fire haunts her.
Relationships: Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana)
Series: if i have learned what love is, it is because of you [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1572859
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43





	consequence

**Author's Note:**

> pyrophobia  
> -  
> the fear of fire

He was too afraid, in the beginning, to leave her on her own.

In the mere weeks since Farah had woken, pale and feeble in a body that felt more like a stranger’s than her own, Asra often looked forward to time spent giving warm baths and coaxing spoonfuls of porridge past her lips— while seeing the skeleton of his lover barely clinging to life still left an unwavering ache in his chest, the sorrow hidden from her in these moments of care and comfort was much preferable to that spent training her back to normalcy, carefully nudging her feet across the floor to mimic footsteps while he supported her weight, or slowly enunciating the names of simple objects in their home while pointing them out, watching her lips wrap around the words without the bravery to repeat them back to him. 

(That, he could tell, she found the most frustrating; relearning a language that had already been difficult to grasp in her original life, with what was supposed to be softly curved consonants coming out with the harsher bite of her mother tongue. Watching her brows furrow as he retaught the words, as if she knew something was amiss in them, and yet could not understand why such elementary learning was giving her such hardship.)

With such a reliance on him, there was a real, bone chilling fear that he endured when even venturing out of the same room as her. In the state she was in, with no words to rely on and the muscle strength of a newborn, even her magic had simpered down to nothing. The idea that she could somehow put herself in harm's way should he turn his back for even a moment, while unrealistic, remained a ghost in the back of his mind, haunting his thoughts with a simple quest to the market for tomatoes and herbs. 

She couldn’t stomach much, that he figured out even before she wretched lamb stew into a bucket after two spoonfuls, so everything remained plain for the time being, lacking the flavor that she had so lovingly crafted into her recipes before. Warm bowls remained situated on his lap as he sat at the edge of the bed, feeding her with the patience of a saint, and she would reach out with a trembling hand to give a weak tug at his shirt when she had reached her limit. He would smile kindly (as if the dish wasn’t still near full) and give a whispered praise with a stroke of her hair, and though she had no idea what he was saying, she relaxed with the lull of his tone, leaning into him with her fingers still curled weakly into his garments. 

Her energy was better today, than usual. He would normally give in to allowing her multiple naps throughout the day, lasting anywhere from 20 minutes to 3 hours at a time, as she always slept through the night regardless of them _(it must drain her,_ his cynical thoughts reminded him, _dragging her body, even frail as it is, through the motions of their quiet days together)._ But as she raised her head from his shoulder, her soft gaze missed the usual drowsiness in her eyes. 

_A good sign,_ his heart hoped.

“How about something to drink, then?” He suggested, his words deliberately slow, and her eyes traced the curve of his lips as he spoke (a silent study method, he supposed). Raising his hand to mimic the motion of a cup tipping against his mouth, the recognition in her eyes brought a quiet joy to him. Her progress was slow, and tedious, but fruitful. “Let’s try something new today.” 

Black teas had been her statement before, with a brew intended for only two people usually steeped with five bags of ceylon tea from her home country (and a bit of rosemary if she was in the mood), though Asra supposed a lighter brew may be a good transition point for her— maybe with just a single cube of sugar to satisfy her sweet tooth. He stood first from the bed, setting the bowl aside to be dealt with later, and approached her body carefully, sliding calloused hands under her knees and behind her back to heft her up, and he couldn’t help the way he smiled softly as she nuzzled into the comfort of his chest. 

(He tried to ignore the still unfamiliar curve of her spine digging into his arm— her emaciated frame would come to life again, that much he would ensure.)

The roof of the kitchen crowded them, situated mostly into a far corner with a wall to the side leading out to their terrace, which felt more like a magical portal to a fairy garden than an extension of their home, with all the greenery that decorated it. He situated her on a chair cushioned with a throw pillow at their makeshift dining table (an old card reading table he had swapped out for his current set up, setting away spare coins for years) with a faded blue cloth draped over it to hide all its scrapes and dings. Farah eyed it curiously, reaching out to grasp the linen between her thumb and forefinger, and rubbing them together to feel the drag of the material against her skin, before giving a soft, approving hum. In watching her, he realized it was the first time since she woke that she had the opportunity to observe their tiny kitchen, as he had been bringing her meals to their bed thus far.

More time out of the cramped bedroom would be good, he decided, mentally making note to try and lead her down the steps to their shop once she was strong enough.

The teapot, copper and losing its shine, sat already full of water on the cast iron stove, and with a tap of his fingers against the cold oven door, a familiar creature poked its head over the edge of the countertop, tongue flicking curiously. “Hello again,” Asra’s soft voice greeted the stove salamander warmly, offering a hand and watching the creature pad over to gratefully accept a chin scratch. “Think you can heat up some tea for me?” Farah watched the exchange curiously, her limbs relaxed as she leaned her full weight against the back of the chair, enjoying the safety she felt in the presence of a person with such a kind, calming aura. To be held in his arms felt as though she was cradled by the sun, warmth kissing her skin, and the loss of such comfort whenever she was away from him, for the few fleeting moments a day that was, left cold biting her skin. 

The warmth was her safe haven.

But as she watched the salamander puff it’s chest to let out a strong gust of fire, suddenly she was burning, all over, unbearable heat tearing maliciously through skin and invading her lungs, burning her from the inside out, and the strangled cry that tore from her throat, left her scrambling as far from the flame as she could manage, startled Asra strongly enough for him to drop the teapot and cause the barely-warmed water to flood the hard wood at his feet, fear pumping through him as he whipped around. _“Farah?!”_

She was backed into the far wall, tucked against a massive burlap sack of jasmine rice, eyes wide and glassed with tears that were already rolling down her cheeks and neck; her nails splintered the wood beneath her with a strength only survival-determined adrenaline could make her capable of. Tremors raked her form as she choked on whimpers, fear etched into her expression as her gaze remained steady on gold-nosed amphibian just behind him, blinking slowly, confused by all the commotion. 

The fire, he realized.

_The fire._

Another mistake on his part; a hurt to add to a growing list of his sins.

He straightened himself slowly, giving a vaguely directed wave back to relieve the friendly critter of its duty, and tore past the painful thump in his chest to offer a weak smile, showing her his open hands, nothing armed that could bring her pain. He gave a whisper of her name, desperation laced into his tone, and raised a now closed fist to rub a circle over his heart. “I’m sorry.” He spoke, just as slowly as before, though now it was less out of a gentle kindness, and more out of a necessity to not startle the girl. “You’re safe. I _promise._ I’m so sorry for scaring you.” 

Her gaze traced his hand as he repeated the motion, and after the few seconds it took for her to register his intent fully, her tense frame slowly slackened, muscles easing back into gravity’s pull while her face twisted with grief, nose crinkling and fresh tears filling her eyes as she let out a broken sob, and finally, _finally_ he rushed to her, gathering her in his arms and holding her closely, protectively, against his chest, allowing her to grab and tug at his shirt as she wept into him. He cupped the back of her head, careful with the way he handled her body, though his other arm curled firm around her waist, and pet her hair comfortingly as she cried through a trauma she couldn’t even remember— an end so gruesome that it had imprinted itself in her very bones. 

He focused in on her and her alone, not even taking the time to dwell on the self deprecation floating in his mind, giving a slow rock of their bodies, back and forth, until her cries died down to weak sniffles, and her sniffles ceased into soft breaths, puffed against his skin as her grip gave away from his shirt. 

Maybe turning in early would do them both some good. 

Once Farah was laid in their bed, Asra briefly pressed his forehead to hers, pouring some of his magic into her being with well wishes of a good night’s sleep before he settled in after her, and just as the mattress shifted with his weight, her body instinctively molded to him, nuzzling into his shoulder and wrapping her fingers around his forearm. Even in her sleep, her body sought him out, an anchor to the world she was trying to become one with— the sentiment dulled the pain, at least for a few fleeting moments, as he leaned his temple to her crown, urging the tense fear that had gripped his limbs to ease back to a calm, as she was here. A bit shaken after a brief scare, but there nonetheless, alive and breathing and cuddled comfortably to the arm she clung to. 

Though while his body may have escaped the weight of anxiety threatening to bring him to an early grave, his mind did not.

_Smoke._

_Rotting flesh clinging to the air._

_The dull recognition of his fingernails splitting as he dug past charred bone and ash, into the stained earth, his body racked with sobs._

_Gone._

_Gone._

_Gone._

_He killed her._

A violent shove had him gasping for breath, bolting upright in the bed with an unimaginable pain already radiating through his being, lungs like lead weighing his body down— _drowning_ him. A tug, insistent on his arm, and his gaze turned to the ghost of a lost lover settled beside him, worry knit into the furrow of her brow, and a pitiful whine caught in his throat, full of fear. He reached up, slow and hesitant, but determined nonetheless, cupping her cheek so gently that even she felt as though a bit more pressure would make her break. He did not attempt a brave smile laced with sadness, or a pitiful attempt to wave off his trauma as per usual, instead simply drinking in the sight of her, alive, skin flushed with warm blood, eyes blinking up at him patiently— their hearts beating in unison, belonging to one another. “You’re alright.” Relief. That, she understood. Something in her mind, weak and sluggish as it was, willed herself closer to him, gazing up at his face with intent. 

Her lips parted, uncertain, first trembling with no sound reaching his ears, before finally, a croak.

“A… Asa.”

To him, time felt as though it froze. 

Weeks of practically begging, praying for a vocalization beyond a minute hum or a broken cry, and he had understood her hesitation; she was wholly terrified, aware somehow that something monstrous had to have happened to make her so pitiful, and even with a weak, flawed mutter of his name, his heart swelled with joy, tears stinging his eyes, but before he could crowd her form, shower her in love and praise, she pressed on, taking his hand from her cheek and lowering it down to her chest, his palm pressing flat to her sternum, feeling the erratic _thump_ of her heart fluttering beneath his fingers. She reached out as well, slow, tentative, a dainty hand that had lost some of its color, laid over his tan skin _(the contrast, now, a stark change to their reality; his skin wasn’t much darker than her own in their days under the sun)._ Swallowing her nerves, her lips parted again.

“You… safe.”

_“You’re safe here,” he had whispered as he bawled over her feeble body, found tucked neatly into their shared bed, as if she had simply been sleeping these past months. “You’re safe with me. You’re safe. I promise you.”_

The tears escaped, impossible to stop, sliding down his cheeks. He nodded, and a sleepy grin curling at his lips, and laughed through a heartache outweighed by immeasurable happiness. He gathered her into his arms, fingers tangling into her hair as he kissed the top of her head, then nuzzling her gratefully. “That’s right,” he breathed. “We’re both safe, as long as we have each other.” His grip on her tightened. “And I will always have you. I promise you that.” The plethora of fluffed pillows behind them easily supported their shared weight as Asra flopped back with Farah still curled into him, refusing to relent his grip and attempting fruitlessly to wipe his tears into his shoulder. Farah looked up with the movement, huffing a weak scoff as she reached up to wipe some of the dew from his skin, only to begin patting it gently against his cheeks.

_“Tears are good for the skin!” She had declared in a near comical breakdown, still weeping pathetically as she began smacking her palms loudly against her cheeks, and he couldn’t help but roar with laughter even as he gathered her into his arms and whispered comfort into her heart._

Asra thanked her softly, smiling through the memory. 

“Rest,” he cooed, their bodies still melded to one another as they relaxed, with only the light of the moon illuminating their figures through the window. “You did so well today, despite everything. You… you make me so proud.” 

And though she couldn’t understand him, she smiled, because if it was him, even without the weight behind his words, it would still be enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> can i write something that isn't sad for once. GOD.
> 
> if you've read my other pieces from this series already, you'll know that i like to play around with my apprentice's unconscious awareness of her situation; she in no way knows that she died (yet, obviously), nor how it happened, or anything else from before her revival for that matter, but i do feel she would have some sort of instinct towards certain things. for one, the way she struggles to grasp vesuvian, sensing something about the language just isn't quite right, but she can't put her finger on it. or in the more extreme, her fear of fire, stemming from a cruel death. the oddly familiar sensation of burning. i wanted to explore that in this piece.
> 
> i really really love my apprentice... so i like sprinkling in little things about her, like where she's from and hobbies she used to have/will grow to love again. but healing takes time, and we fall off track, so she will still hurt along the way. 
> 
> i may write a short piece about farah's home country; it's HEAVILY inspired by my own roots. be on the look out!
> 
> please leave a comment! i love to hear your thoughts, the love and the hate. as always, thank you so very much for reading. <3


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